I’ve always avoided fame. That’s why I’m not famous. Of course, there are those of you, maybe a majority, who snicker. “Good thing, pal, ‘cause there wasn’t a chance in hell you’d ever be famous!”
You could be right, but I have a feeling you’re not. I suspect if I had ever tried for fame, I’d probably have made it, even if only for that ephemeral 15 minutes. Not that I ever cared much for being famous. It just wasn’t something I ever desired.
But throughout my life, I’ve seen the ravages of fame on many people. I’ve seen the arrogance that tends to settle over famous people. I’ve seen the hangers-on who will suck the life out of them. The people who stand around, waiting for an opportunity to stick a knife in their backs. The drugs and other excesses that tend to dog them. The psychos who come out of the woodwork years after the fact to claim some imagined wrong which had been done to them. The people who salivate at the opportunity to watch you fail.
I’ve been famous in certain small spheres, but nothing big. And even then I was uncomfortable with the whole idea. In those cases, I usually ended up in that situation because I volunteered when no one else would.
I can give you a realistic example: suppose someone offered you any position in an army, any position at all, top to bottom. You could be the commanding general of the whole army if you wanted. Know where I’d be? In the command tent with the maps, working out strategies and tactics. That’s where I’d really want to be. We’re talking waaay out of the spotlight. Mr. General can take credit for all the victories. I’ll be back in the tent, working out the next battle.
Of course, you could say I’m admitting a lot of cowardice. And you’re right. Fame scares the hell out of me. You really should be able to catch anything life throws at you.
And for those of you can grasp the idea, I imagine I was never famous because I never particularly wanted to be. Pretty much everything else I ever wanted to be in life, I have been.
Yep, I’m a big weenie.